


Livestream

by FreyaOdin



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: "Platonicness", Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Smut, Surprises, career-ending errors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 16:35:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9333617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreyaOdin/pseuds/FreyaOdin
Summary: Mitch is starting to get the hang of live.me...sort of.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a group chat where Haran, Alyssia, and Stef are all horrible influences.

“Okay, so I’m early.” Mitch says as he struggles to balance his bag, keeping the phone pointed in the vicinity of his face and not at the house, and getting his key in the lock. “Scott thinks I’ll call him from the airport for a ride, but we’re surprising him. Shhh.”

The key finally turns and he shoves the door open with his shoulder, kicking it closed behind him and dumping his bag in the corner. “Honey, I’m home!”

“Mitchy?” Scott’s voice calls from downstairs. “God, missed you baby!”

The kids, of course, go wild in the chat. Lots of “Scotty!”, “omg cute!”, “so fucking codependent”, “they’re reuniting, imma die!”, and what looks like a million wands. And like a cruise ship? What the fuck does that even mean?

Distracted by the app, Mitch doesn’t pay attention to Scott’s approach. Which is saying something since a ten-foot-tall, not-precisely-graceful man clambering up the stairs isn’t exactly subtle.

“Fuck, Mitch, c’mere,” is all the warning he gets before Scott’s there and reaching for him.

Shit. Mitch didn’t think this through. He should have warned him right away. He shouldn’t have— “Scott, wait. I’m on— mmph!”

It’s too late. Scott takes his lips in a desperate kiss, as needy and eager as a couple of days apart always makes him. Mitch panics for a moment—it’s going to be hard to sell the platonic thing after this—before everything but Scott starts to fade from his mind.

Scott’s arms come around him, pulling him close, and Mitch can’t help but respond, wrapping his arms around his neck, one hand tangling in his hair. He’s vaguely aware that his phone is still in his other hand, but as his back hits the wall, he no longer remembers exactly what he was doing with it.

“God, need you,” Scott mumbles between kisses, trailing his lips up Mitch’s jaw to his ear. “Been useless without you.”

Mitch should…Mitch should drag him for that, for the fact he never knows what to do with himself when he’s alone. But honestly Mitch is almost as bad. He can survive by himself for longer, doesn’t derive comfort from being with other people when he needs Scott like Scott does when he needs Mitch. But after 24 hours or so he needs a fix, a Facetime or a snap or a long string of texts. And after 48 he needs touch almost as much as Scott does.

And judging from how hard Scott is, solidly pressed against Mitch’s hip, he really, really needs touch.

“You’ve got me,” Mitch says, whimpering as Scott bites his earlobe. “I’m here.”

Scott’s hands are everywhere: cupping his jaw, tracing over a nipple, smoothing down his side, sliding under his shirt. When a big hand tugs at his thigh, Mitch helps by jumping up and wrapping his legs around him, grinning as Scott presses him harder into the wall to compensate for his weight. It makes him the taller one for once and he takes advantage by recapturing Scott’s lips, pulling his head back with the hand still gripping his hair.

Scott moans and grabs his ass with both hands, pulling them away from the wall. He staggers to the couch, surprisingly having the forethought to bypass the short ones closest to them in favor of the full-sized one in their less formal living room. Mitch grunts as he’s unceremoniously dumped onto it, but allows himself to be pushed down onto his back. He shimmies until he’s lying full out on it, letting his phone fall to the floor.

Scott stares down at him for a long moment, biting his lip. Mitch lets his gaze travel down his body, taking in the broadness of his shoulders tapering to far narrower hips, all accentuated by the well-fitted tank and jeans he’s wearing. Fuck, he missed him. He reaches out with grabby hands, letting his legs fall open, one foot bracing against the back of the couch and the other on the ground. “Come get me, daddy.”

Scott’s expression turns feral, and after digging frantically into the side table drawer for a second, he’s soon crawling up between Mitch’s legs and tugging at his belt.

Mitch has a moment where he thinks he might have forgotten something important, but then Scott is yanking his jeans off and his hands are sliding up his legs and his fingers are sliding other places, and soon he’s back to not thinking about anything but Scott leaning over him, Scott’s weight on top of him, Scott’s cock inside him.

Fuck, it’s so good. Mitch can’t help the wide grin on his face, even as he’s panting with every rock up the couch. “Fuck. Missed this. Missed you.”

Scott’s answering grin is dazzling. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He shifts his hips and the change in angle makes Mitch’s back arch and his eyes roll back. “That’s it. Fuck, I love you so much, babe. So beautiful like this.”

Mitch whimpers and Scott swoops in and captures the sound with his lips. Jesus, he’s not going to last. It’s ridiculous how desperate he is after only two days, but as Scott reaches between them to tug at his cock, he comes almost instantly, moaning and panting and whining with relief.

Scott shoves his tongue down Mitch’s throat in response, thrusting only a few more times before groaning out his own release. His hips slow and then stop, and his mouth gentles until they’re sloppily exchanging sweet, almost tender kisses and grinning like loons.

But later, when they’re staring in wide-eyed horror, heads tilted, watching their upper bodies rock together and listening to their moans and sighs and endearments and fucking _squelching noises_ on a twitter link to YouTube, Mitch seriously begins to regret being such an idiot.

“Um. Well, at least the camera angle wasn’t lower? You can’t really see anything _bad_.”

Scott slowly turns to look at him, face set in the most incredulous expression Mitch has ever seen him make. And that’s saying something. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

A moment later Scott’s phone rings. It’s Jonathon. Which, yeah. They probably should have expected that. Scott takes one look at it and holds the phone out to Mitch.

“What?” Mitch asks. “He’s calling you.”

Scott just shoves the phone closer to his face. “I am _not_ going to be the one explaining this, Mitchell.”

Mitch winces. Yeah, okay. That’s fair. Shit. He swallows thickly, takes a deep breath, and then answers the phone.

“Hey Jonni! So, um, Scomiche is real?”

 

**Thoughts?**


End file.
